75 AMAZING PICK UP LINES

Lost

A/N: I KNOW IT’S LIKE AN HOUR AND A HALF LATE, I'M SORRY!! DON’T KILL ME!!! This one was hard and it's probably terrible, so I'm just gonna apologize right now, lol. I tried to make it Halloween-related, but that didn’t work out, so here, have a Wild West AU. Enjoy, and I hope everyone had a spooky Halloween! >:)

“Help me, I’m lost! Can you give me directions to your bedroom?”

Scott swore under his breath, trying to balance both the map and the reins in his hands. He was hopelessly lost, and it was well past nightfall. He should have been sleeping at the lodge in Cedar Hill by then.

The full moon was out, acting as a weak reading light for Scott as he squinted at the map, getting a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was royally screwed. They should have passed that trail four miles ago. Travis would surely have his hide if he didn’t show tomorrow morning to drive the new herd to Sedalia.

Below him, his horse’s feet buckled slightly before regaining his balance, and Scott was nearly thrown off. “Tuckered out, ain’t ya, Wyatt?” he laughed lightly, shaking his head. They’d been riding all day, and they had to find Cedar Hill and fast before both of them collapsed from exhaustion. Finally, as they went up and over a hill, Scott could see a small town in the distance. He had no idea whether it was Cedar Hill or not, but at this point, he couldn’t care less. Maybe they would be able to point him in the right direction.

After about ten more minutes, they finally arrived at the entrance of the village. Welcome to Arlington, Texas, Est. 1876, the wire arch above them read. Scott began to walk Wyatt slowly down the main boulevard in search of the town inn. It was a rather nice town, with clean streets and tidy buildings. They passed a bank, a blacksmith, a saloon, and a barbershop before Scott heard a low, quiet voice come from his left: “Evenin', sir.” Scott turned his head to see a man sitting in a rocking chair on the porch of one of the buildings. He had long, dark hair that reached past his jawline and a neatly trimmed beard.

“Evenin',” Scott answered, maneuvering Wyatt a few steps in the man’s direction before dismounting. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Cedar Hill is, would ya?”

The man thought for a minute, rocking slightly back and forth in his chair. “Eighteen miles back southeast.”

“Southeast?” Scott mentally kicked himself. Eighteen miles in a completely different direction? That was another six hours, at least. For a cowboy, he should have been able to read maps a great deal better. He sighed heavily, taking off his hat and running a calloused hand through his hair. “I don’t got that kind of time, sir. I gotta be in Cedar Hill by eight o’clock, and my horse is near ‘bout to keel over.”

The man hummed softly in a deep bass register, scratching his beard in contemplative silence for a few seconds. “You drivin’ cattle?” Scott nodded, and the other man smiled. “I could tell by your getup there. Tell ya what: the inn is just down that there street. Mitchell’s got a telegraph in his office. If ya asked nicely, he’d let ya wire your boss and tell ‘em that your horse has come down with the laziness somethin’ awful, and he won’t budge, and there’s somethin’ wrong with ‘em so ya gotta let him rest for a lil’ while before ya head out on the road again. That buys ya some extra time to get some shut-eye here, and your boss’ll be none the wiser. That make sense?”

Scott was elated. This man was a genius. “Yessir. Thank you, sir! I owe ya.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “You don’t owe me nothin’. Go get some rest, you look beat. And tell Mitchell that Avi sent ya, ya hear?”

Scott smiled, taking Wyatt’s reins. “For sure. Thanks again, sir,” he said to Avi earnestly, and he started leading Wyatt down the street in the direction Avi had indicated before a thought crossed his mind. “Hold on. Who’s Mitchell?”